The Bear and the Nightingale (Winternight Trilogy 1)

“Take her,” said Vasya quickly. “Let her die in truth now, so that she will not be afraid. Look, already she is forgetting.”

It was true. The clarity had begun to fade from Dunya’s face. “And you, Vasya?” Morozko said. “If I take her, I must leave this place.”

Vasya thought of facing the Bear without him and she wavered. “How long will you be gone?”

“An instant. An hour. One cannot tell.”

Behind them the Bear called out. Dunya shook at the summons. “I must go to him,” she whispered. “I must—Marushka, please.”

Vasya gathered her resolve. “I have an idea,” she said.

“It would be better—”

“No,” snapped Vasya. “Take her away now. Please. She was my mother.” She seized the frost-demon’s arm with both hands. “The white mare said you were a giver of gifts. Do this for me now, Morozko. I beg you.”

There was a long silence. Morozko looked at the battle beyond them. He looked back at her. For a flickering instant, his glance strayed into the trees. Vasya looked where he did and saw nothing. But suddenly the frost-demon smiled.

“Very well,” Morozko said. Unexpectedly he reached out and drew her close and kissed her, quick and fierce. She looked up at him wide-eyed. “You must hold on, then,” he said. “As long as you may. Be brave.”

He stepped back. “Come, Avdotya Mikhailovna, and take the road with me.”

Suddenly he and Dunya were astride the white horse, and only a crumpled, bloody, empty thing lay in the snow at Vasya’s feet.

“Farewell,” whispered Vasya, fighting the urge to call him back. Then they were gone, the white horse and her two riders.

Vasya took a deep breath. The Bear had thrown off the last of his attackers. Now he wore the scarred face of a man, but a tall, strong man, with cruel hands. He laughed. “Well done,” he said. “I am always trying to get rid of him myself. He is a cold thing, devushka. I am the fire; I will warm you. Come here, little vedma, and live forever.”

He beckoned. His eyes seemed to drag at her. His power flooded the clearing and the wounded chyerti shrank before him.

Vasya breathed in a frightened breath. But Solovey was at her side. She felt his sinewy neck under her hand and then, blindly, she clambered onto his back. “Better a thousand deaths,” she said to the Bear.

The scarred lip lifted and she saw the gleam of his long teeth. “Come, then,” he said coldly. “Slave or loyal servant, the choice is yours. But you are mine either way.” He was growing as he spoke, and suddenly the man was a bear again, with jaws to swallow the world. He grinned at her. “Oh, you are afraid. They are always afraid at the end. But the fear of the brave—that is best.”

Vasya thought her heart would beat its way out of her breast. But aloud she said, in a small, strangled voice, “I see the folk of the wood. But what of the domovoi, and the bannik, and the vazila? Come to me now, children of my people’s hearths, for my need is very great.” She ripped the skin of ice off the wound in her arm, so that her blood tumbled forth. The blue jewel was glowing beneath her clothes.

There was an instant of stillness in the clearing, broken by the chime of Alyosha’s sword and the grunts of the chyerti who still fought. Her brother was surrounded by three of the Bear’s people. Vasya saw his face intent, the gleam of blood on his arm and cheek.

“Come to me now,” said Vasya, desperately. “As I ever loved you, and you loved me; remember the blood I shed, and the bread I gave.”

Still there was silence. The Bear scraped the earth with his great forefeet. “And now you will despair,” he said. “Despair is even better than fear.” He put his tongue out like a snake, as though to taste the air.

Foolish girl, thought Vasya. How could the household-spirits come? They are bound to our hearths. She tasted blood, bitter and salty in her mouth.

“We can at least save my brother,” Vasya said to Solovey, and the horse bugled defiance. One of the Bear’s great paws flashed out, taking them by surprise, and the horse barely dodged. He backed, ears flat to his head, and the great paw drew back to strike again.

Suddenly all the domoviye, all the bathhouse-guardians and dooryard spirits from all the dwellings in Lesnaya Zemlya, were thronging at their feet. Solovey had to pick up his hooves to keep from stepping on them, and then the vazila sprang onto Solovey’s withers. The little domovoi from her own house brandished a live coal in one sooty hand.

For the first time, the Bear looked uncertain. “Impossible,” he muttered. “Impossible. They do not leave their houses.”

The household-spirits roared out strange challenges and Solovey pawed the muddy earth.

But then Vasya’s heart sprang into her throat and seemed to hang there, hammering. The rusalka had borne Alyosha to earth. Vasya saw his sword go flying; she saw him freeze, entranced, looking up at the naked woman. She saw her fingers go round his throat.

The Bear laughed. “Stay where you are, all of you. Or this one dies.”

“Remember,” Vasya called to the rusalka, desperately, across the clearing. “I threw flowers for you, and now I shed my blood. Remember!”

The rusalka froze, perfectly still except for the water running down her hair. Her hands around Alyosha’s throat slackened.

Alyosha struck out, renewing the struggle, but the Bear was too near.

“Come on!” cried Vasya to Solovey, to all of her ragged army. “Go—he is my brother!”

But at that moment, a great bellow of rage came from the other end of the clearing.

Vasya glanced aside and saw her father standing there, his sword in his hand.

THE BEAR WAS TWICE and thrice the size of an ordinary bear. It had only one eye; half its face was a mass of scars. The good eye gleamed, the color of thin shadow on snow. It wasn’t sleepy, like an ordinary bear, but alight with hunger and giddy malice.

Before the Bear was Vasya, unmistakable, tiny before the beast, riding a dark horse. But Alyosha, his son, lay almost beneath the beast’s feet, and the great mouth reached down…

Pyotr bellowed, a cry of love and rage. The beast whipped his head around. “So many visitors,” he said. “Silence for a thousand lives of men, and then the world descends upon me. Well, I will not object. One at a time, though. First the boy.”

But at that moment, a naked woman, green-skinned, water glittering on her long hair, shrieked and sprang onto the Bear’s back, clutching him with her hands and teeth. Next instant, Pyotr’s daughter cried aloud and the great horse charged, striking out at the beast with its forefeet. With them came all manner of strange creatures, tall and thin, tiny and bearded, male and female. They threw themselves together upon the Bear, shrieking in their high, strange voices. The beast fell back beneath them.

Vasya half-tumbled from the horse’s back, seized Alyosha, and dragged him away. Pyotr heard her sobbing. “Lyoshka,” she cried. “Lyoshka.”

The stallion struck out with his forefeet again and backed up, protecting the boy and girl on the ground. Alyosha blinked dazedly about them. “Get up, Lyoshka,” pleaded Vasya. “Please, please.”

The Bear shook himself and most of the strange creatures were flung off. He lashed out with one paw, and the great stallion barely evaded the blow. The naked woman fell to the snow, water flying from her hair. Vasya threw herself over her half-conscious brother. Monstrous teeth reached for her unprotected back.